


A Man About To Fly

by greenapricot



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s07e05-06 Intelligent Design parts 1-2, M/M, with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 10:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: James looks away from Lewis’ smile and takes another sip of his pint, but it’s not Lewis now, it’s Robbie. Robbie’s smile. To say the name aloud, to have Robbie smile at him like that when he does, is a gift. A gift James has received just in time for it to no longer be useful.





	A Man About To Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a tumblr writing meme prompt from disastershy and quickly got angstier and longer than I intended. It takes place immediately following [this scene](http://greenapricot.tumblr.com/post/181693771074) in Intelligent Design. 
> 
> A million thanks to Jack for the beta and Leena for making the gifset of the scene in question (which I studied very carefully in my efforts to get the mood right).
> 
> Title from Demons by the National which is the ultimate James post-Intelligent Design mood.

_What sense could there be in things? I have come through countries, centuries of difficult sleep and hard riding and still I do not know the sense of things when I see it, when I stand with the pieces in my hands._  
      -Anne Carson, “Kinds of Water”

 

James looks away from Lewis’ smile and takes another sip of his pint, but it’s not Lewis now, it’s Robbie. Robbie’s smile. To say the name aloud, to have Robbie smile at him like that when he does, is a gift. A gift James has received just in time for it to no longer be useful. 

He sips his pint and watches the couple at the next table, the punters on the Cherwell; happy people smiling at each other, together in their happiness in a way James has never been with anyone. With Robbie, he came close. But Robbie was Lewis then, and the joy of working at Lewis’ side has been outweighed by James’ ever diminishing faith in his fellow man; a weight which will be lifted tomorrow when he walks into Innocent’s office and sets himself free. James will resign. There will be a point in the near future when he will wake up in the morning without the knowledge that he’ll witness the worst of humanity throughout the course of the day. 

The truth is, he’s seen this breaking point coming for years, looming like thunderclouds on the horizon, inevitable, unavoidable, bearing down on him. He has seen it plain as day but refused to acknowledge it, refused to give in because Lewis’ presence made everything bearable. Without Lewis there is nothing to shelter James from the storm, it will blow right over him unhindered and he’ll be dashed to pieces in its wake. 

James needs a change and this has to be it. Something that will allow him to, if not feel whole, at least fit the pieces of himself more tightly together. He would have done it years ago if it weren’t for the other weight he carries; still heavy on his heart and not so easily lifted. How fitting that the day he is granted the gift of using Robbie’s name is the day he puts a final line under that brush with happiness. _I’ve appreciated it_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. How much more would he regret saying all he wants to say aloud—to risk the last look he sees on Robbie’s face being a frown of confusion, or worse, pity—than he’ll regret never saying anything at all? 

A plan is formulating in the back of his mind. He is walking away from the job, he might as well make that literal; walk away from everything, Robbie included. Especially Robbie. Robbie’s got Laura now, James is superfluous; a third wheel, a hanger-on mucking about on the fringes. The two of them are happy and James is genuinely pleased to see them so happy, but smiling along with them while the knife of longing is lodged firmly between his ribs is taking its toll. 

Robbie and James sip their pints, they reminisce, they sit in companionable silence for comfortable minutes, the conversation not exhausted but at a lull. James’ heart aches with how content he would be to do this, nothing but this, sitting by Robbie’s side, for all eternity. James’ heart aches with the effort of not moving his knee two inches to the right to rest it against Robbie’s. Robbie doesn’t notice how close they’re sitting, he never seems to, and James can never not. Robbie is watching the punters as well, contemplating the river while James contemplates the contours of Robbie’s face, committing every nuance to memory for easy recall in the unknown future. 

As much as he likes the idea, James can’t quite fit two ex-coppers having regular pints together into that future, can’t quite believe that he and Robbie will find some common ground that isn’t work to inhabit. It’s as comforting a fantasy as sharing an allotment and a sailing dinghy, but that’s all it is. A fantasy. This is goodbye. He could cling to the coattails of their partnership until the bitter end, hang on to see Robbie off at his retirement do with toasts and more promises of future pints, watch the light fade until there’s nothing left. But that would be nothing more than prolonging the inevitable. Better for James to go as soon as he can and leave no time for rumination. 

Without Robbie and the job, Oxford is nothing but a loose collection of memories. James is better off keeping the good ones in his head and removing the risk of walking around corners and being confronted with the bad. It is the right thing to do, it has to be, but he can’t bring himself to tell Robbie. James may not be able to live in the comforting fantasy of continued shared pints, but at least he can give that to Robbie. A parting gift that he won’t realise is a parting gift until James is already gone. 

If James lets on about his plans Robbie might ask him to stay. Or he might not. Either path leads to ruin. 

Robbie’s name and three pints on an empty stomach are more than enough for one day. He should go home. But when their pints are empty once again James’ traitorous heart won’t let him leave. It sends him to the bar for a fourth round. The time it takes to drink one more pint will be enough to ensure he’s fully committed every nuance of Robbie’s face to memory, to be sure that he’ll be able to bring up the exact combination of quirk of lips and raise of eyebrow later when he’s alone and can spend as long as he wants, and too long, gazing at Robbie’s face in his mind’s eye where doing so won’t harm anyone but himself. 

Whether it’s his heart or his head or those three pints and no dinner, James fumbles the glasses on his way back to the table. He recovers quickly, but not quickly enough to keep beer from sloshing over the edge of his glass onto his fingers. Robbie gives him a fond smile as he resettles himself on the bench, as if James’ uncharacteristic clumsiness has brightened his day. 

After a couple of sips, Robbie puts his pint down on the table and turns to James. “Where are you off to, then?” 

“Well, I’ve just been to the bar,” James says. Something has given him away. He tries to make his face as blank as possible. 

Robbie narrows his eyes at him. “After you’ve worked your notice.”

“Who said I was going anywhere?” It’s the wrong response. Too defensive; breaking the calm between them the moment the words leave James’ mouth. A last ditch effort to keep a secret from a man who knows him too well. That is the heart of why he has to leave. Well, half of the heart. Half of his heart. 

“Don’t tell me, then.” Robbie looks hurt. That can’t be the last look James sees on Robbie’s face. That can’t be the picture of Robbie Lewis he brings with him in his mind.

“I haven’t decided yet,” James says, trying for cheerful ambiguity but falling flat. He takes a quick sip of his pint to cover how lost he sounds. But he’s not. He’s not lost. It’s only change. The new shape of his life still solidifying, he’s not used to the contours of it yet, but he will be. He’ll get there.

The lines on Robbie’s forehead deepen. “Let me know when you do.”

James nods. That will defeat the whole purpose of leaving, telling Robbie when and where. He’ll never fully loose his heart from its tether if Robbie knows, he’ll still feel the pull of him wherever he goes. Though really, he’ll feel the pull regardless; the idea that he might ever be free of that constant tug is nothing but another fantasy that will never be realised. The job he can do something about, his heart will go on wanting what it wants. James takes another sip from his pint, his shaking hand rattling the glass against the table when he puts it back down.

“How about some dinner?” Robbie asks. Changing the subject, giving James an out that he should most definitely take. 

James nods again but makes no move to order food, no move to do anything. He was so close to a smooth exit. There’s no hope of that now. Robbie’s skin is golden in the orangey sunset light. Everything about him is golden, beautiful. Robbie smiles at James over the top of his pint, the smile that always sparks visions of cradling Robbie’s face in his hands and kissing him, and James loses his mind. 

“I love y—” His brain catches up with what his mouth has done and James downs what’s left of his pint. He’s leaving anyway, it doesn’t matter. It won’t matter. James stands. “I should go.” 

Robbie is staring at him. He blinks and puts his own pint carefully down on the table. “You do.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“James.” Robbie’s voice is so gentle. He places a tentative hand on James’ wrist. “I do too, you.” 

James’ heart stops for a moment. He’s frozen, one leg on either side of the bench, Robbie’s hand on his arm both is and is not like all the casual shoulder pats and hands on his back that have been sustaining him over the years. 

“But not like that,” James says.

“No,” Robbie says, “Not like that, I’m afraid.” He squeezes James’ wrist then lets go. “It’s all right.” 

James shakes his head. “I don’t think it is.”

“Could it be, though?” 

James meets Robbie’s eyes. He looks sincere, concerned. James swings his leg back over the bench and sits down again. He reaches for his empty pint, spinning the glass between his fingers. 

“Is that why you’re leaving?” Robbie asks. 

James nods, struck dumb by Robbie’s acceptance. Struck dumb by Robbie’s everything the way he has been from the first case they worked together all those years ago. Robbie had covered for him before they even knew each other at all, and James has been his ever since.

“It’s part of it,” he says finally.

“Well, I’ll be here when you get back,” Robbie says. “We’ll have another pint.” He sounds so certain. How can he know without a doubt that James will be back when James himself doesn’t? Robbie’s not a man who tends toward blind hope. Is it possible that he knows James better than James knows himself? Possible, probable. More likely than not. What does James know about being… anything? Less and less as each day goes by.

*

Two weeks later—one week working off what’s left of his notice after subtracting his unused annual leave, and one tying up loose ends—James is a man with no ties, ready to set off into the great unknown. It will be another month before Robbie officially retires, but James can’t face the retirement do, the expectant looks in his direction and talk of him stepping up into the newly vacant Inspector position. He thinks that, at least, Robbie understands. And Robbie’s understanding is all that has ever truly mattered. He lets himself have pints with Robbie twice during that two weeks.

By their final pint James has booked passage on a ferry, then a train; succumbing to the romantic idea of watching the island on which Robbie Lewis resides fade into the distance. As he stands at the stern and watches England grow steadily smaller maybe his heart will finally grasp what his head already knows. 

He still doesn’t tell Robbie where he’s going or that he is leaving the next day. Robbie doesn’t ask. They don’t talk about the fact that James is leaving at all. They have two pints; one wouldn’t be enough, three far too many. Robbie has treated James no differently after his accidental confession. James doesn’t know how to express his gratitude so he says nothing. He wants to give Robbie a hug, to clasp their hands together, to make some grand gesture, but he doesn’t do that either. He says a goodbye that feels less final than he thought it would. Robbie looks wistful when they part ways.

*

James sends Robbie a postcard from Saint Jean Pied de Port. It’s not a pilgrimage, he’s not walking toward something, he’s walking away.

On the Camino there are no dead bodies, no reluctant witnesses, no terrible secrets that he must bring to light to solve the case, only fellow travellers with packs on their backs and dust on their boots. As he reaches the the height of the plain of León he can start to see the good in the job, the reasons why he choose it before Robbie Lewis became a reason to stay.

The farther James walks, the farther he gets from the job and Oxford and Robbie, the more Robbie’s surety of his return settles in his bones along with the heat and the dust. It settles his thoughts to a dull roar until they are a companion, not a burden. All his love and longing is smoothed out along the trail, scuffed against rocks with his boots, the edges rubbed off until it fits comfortably in the palm of his hand, until he can hold it and enjoy its warmth without being overwhelmed by it. 

The sun shines down and he thinks of Robbie. His feet blister and he thinks of Robbie. He’s caught out in the rain between villages with no shelter in sight and he thinks of Robbie. He sleeps like the dead after another long dusty day and he wakes up thinking of Robbie. 

And then one day he doesn’t. He has been cleansed. James doesn’t even notice the absence of the thoughts at first, only that a weight has lifted. His pack feels lighter, though nothing has physically changed. Noticing that he’s not thinking of Robbie leads him to think about Robbie, of course, but his thoughts are lighter as well. There are glimpses of a possible future, not just longing for the past. He can live this life, not only endure it but live it. Maybe he has heat stroke or maybe he’s had an epiphany but it all leads to the same place. That place isn’t Santiago de Compostela, it’s a pub in Oxford. Any pub in Oxford. When he gets back, however long that takes, Robbie will be there. They’ll have another pint. 

In Arzúa James turns around and walks back the way he came, against the tide of pilgrims heading toward the cathedral that bears his name but which he will not enter. He walks more slowly, retracing his steps, savouring the return journey, recognising trees and vistas and villages. He stops for more than one night in some of them. By the time he reaches the beginning that is now the end, he will be ready.

_____


End file.
